


Always Follow the Voices Beneath

by cytryne



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Other, This was supposed to be about him being trans then I decided it was stupid, Trans curufin, cause being trans is never going to be the end all be all of someone’s life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 05:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17278040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cytryne/pseuds/cytryne
Summary: Curufin was never going to be anything but intense..A look at Curufin, from beginning to end.





	Always Follow the Voices Beneath

**Author's Note:**

> The pronouns may seem strange at the beginning, but I’m trying to write it from his point of view and there’s really no other way to do them.

She knew from a very young age something wasn’t average. Beyond the obvious, that is, no child of Feanor could ever be average. She didn’t like being called she, she didn’t like being referred to as a daughter, and she felt connected to her brothers in a way that all examples told her wasn’t a normal brother-sister relationship. But what else could she be?

So she went to her Atar, like she did for everything she couldn’t figure out.

He...helped, as much as he could. Suggested a few things, let them have time and an environment to figure it out. And they did, as much as they could. Their mother was upset at first, but she adjusted and accepted it.

He let his Atar choose one name—Curufinwe—and let his Amme decide his first epesse—Curvo—but wanted to choose the other. Atarince. Something that reminded other people of his gender.

People didn’t forget that he hadn’t always been known as Curufinwe, but it stopped being important after a while. His older brothers had proven their willingness to make anyone who said anything stop, so they did.

And...he grew up.

He was more reserved than he could have been if he were different, but still much the same. Parties, drinks, pride, fights—they took over much of his young adult life. He bickered with his brothers, slept with people when he felt like it, tried to prove himself to his father even though he didn’t need to, and lived. He gained a reputation for arrogance and cleverness, and a talent for working through everything.

Then he got pregnant.

He absolutely, utterly, refused to tell anyone who the other father was. This was his baby and he alone would keep it. No matter how he had to change his life for them. People gossiped, of course, but they couldn’t do much. He was a Feanorion. His Atar wouldn’t let them. He wouldn’t let them. No matter the scandal.

(His relationship with his Amme devolved at this point, her angry with him for not telling anyone who the other parent was and ending up pregnant in the first place. He chose his baby over their relationship.)

Tyelperinquar Curufinwion was born with brilliantly blonde hair and light blue eyes, and a smile that wrapped his Atya around his finger immediately. He didn’t get a mother-name and never would, but he did get a large collection of assorted relatives willing to teach him anything he wanted. Curvo thought he was perfect.

It took close to a decade, but eventually he felt comfortable leaving Tyelpe with a brother and going out on his own. At one of the first parties he’d been to since giving birth he met her. Her name was Veryanis, and he adored her instantly. She was one of the best people he’d ever met, and somehow she loved him. They got married within two years of meeting, imitating his Atar and Amme. Tyelpe loved her.

They were happy.

Then Finwe was murdered, and the Silmarilli stolen, and everything was turned on its head.

He swore an Oath in anger and hatred, tying himself to a Doom he could barely understand. And then they killed everyone in their way, and Veryanis died, and he was terrified for the first time ever.

Death was a thing. Not an abstract concept, not something that had happened to animals one person in his family only, but a real possibility. His wife died. His brother died. He’d killed people. Anyone could die. His son could die.

(Was this revenge worth it?)

He swore, then and there, that no one would ever hurt Tyelpe.

He’d kill them first.

 

-

 

Atar was dead. Dead, gone, lost—they all worked. But he didn’t have time to linger over it, time to think about the loss they’d just went through. The Oath demanded reparations, and by the Void he’d pay them. He’d make them pay. His father might be gone but his death lit a fire in his heart that would never go out.

Ha. The Nolofinweans had resorted to crossing the Helcaraxë. Nelyo glared at him for laughing at them in a meeting, and promptly told him he wasn’t ever going to be in charge of diplomacy. That was fine. Maedhros could do it.

Maedhros was gone. Maedhros was gone. Maedhros was gone. His wife was gone, his Atar was gone, and now his oldest brother. And Cano wouldn’t let them rescue him. His reasoning was valid but Curufinwe didn’t care about that, because that was his brother, his rock. He was supposed to be there to be reassuring and helpful and protective when he couldn’t, not captured and tortured and—

He thought he might hate Maglor.

(He didn’t hate Maglor, but oh, how he wanted to sometimes.)

The fear of what was happening to his brother lead him to protect Tyelpe. Tyelpe wasn’t allowed to travel without two of them. Tyelpe wasn’t allowed to be within earshot of any strategic discussions. Tyelpe was to be kept busy, safely in the back of their armies. Tyelpe was going to be perfectly unharmed.

He knew, logically, that what he was doing went beyond protection and into smothering and utter paranoia, but Tyelpe was safe. Tyelpe would never experience the horrors of war and torture first-hand. He’d see to that.

He was clever, there was no denying that. Quite possibly the cleverest of all seven of them. So when they needed it, he took over long-term strategy. Everything had to be approved by Cano, of course, but most of their plans were his idea. And they worked. People started calling him “the Crafty,” not only for his smithing but for his mind. The rest of his time was spent organizing the smiths and personally working on the most important projects. Then he’d get up, and go to another meeting. Sleep was unnecessary. The less he slept the stronger the whispers of the Oath got, and the more the Oath fueled him.

Nelyafinwe was alive.

Nelyo was alive, and free, and here. Thanks to Findekano, of all people. He didn’t want to be in debt to Fingon, but he was too thrilled to care. That was his brother.

Healing Maedhros would be a long process, but he would do all he could. Starting with making prosthetics.

He’d never been fond of the way his body was, struggling to accept it one day and happy to ignore it the next, but upon meeting the Secondborn he immediately felt better. There might be parts he disliked about himself, but at least the differences weren’t as stark in his race as with the Secondborn. He couldn’t imagine having to deal with a chest three times the size of his brothers’.

And their negotiations succeeded, so that helped.

 

-

 

He was going to murder Nelyafinwe.

The crown was theirs. If Maedhros wasn’t capable of being King, he should have passed it down to Maglor, again. Maglor was a good High King. Maglor was capable. And if Maglor didn’t want it, then it went to Tyelkormo, who’d almost certainly pass it to Morifinwe. Then to him, or Ambarussa. Not Fingon. Fingon did not deserve it. He would never be a good king.

The High Kingship belonged to the House of Feanor, by right of birth. Even if he had to steal it back.

He couldn’t stay around his cousins, or even his brothers, without starting fights. It wasn’t—they didn’t understand. Didn’t they have the same drive, to do what was necessary no matter the cost? The same whispers in their minds, all the time? Didn’t they find their cousins pathetic, and irritating, and worthless for their goals? Why weren’t they doing anything about it? It wasn’t his fault no one was important enough for him to tolerate, except his family.

People only called him Atarince as a curse, now. Feanor’s favorite son, with all the parts they hated.

Tyelpe tried to keep the peace, bless him, but he wouldn’t let him close to the actually difficult areas. Tyelpe didn’t need to know, or experience any of the arguments and insults he couldn’t find the desire to repress.

His son’s lack of a father was brought up, and his . . . body, and the culprit had to be scraped off the ground.

Tyelko forced him into moving to Himlad with him to keep the peace between their fragile alliances.

(It wasn’t his fault, why didn’t they see that? He was just doing what they wouldn’t.)

Himlad helped.

He had time to cool off, time to fight without having to deal with diplomacy and schemes and people who weren’t as dedicated as him. Time to organize himself and his priorities. He could work together with others. He could lead. He could organize other people. But the moment someone stopped being useful for their goals, he’d remove them. Permanently. No matter who they were.

Elu Thingol would never stop being a thorn in his side, would he? If not for the logistics of escaping Doriath, that piece of Sindar filth would have been dead long ago. Moving closer to him only made him hate the coward more.

 

-

 

The Dagor Bragollach was an unmitigated disaster.

Their defenses broke on the second wave, when dozens of balrogs concentrated on Aglon and Aglon alone. Himlad burned to the ground. All of their work, gone in a span of days. Most of their people, dead. They escaped with little more than their lives, Celegorm holding the line while he desperately tried to find what people they had left and get them to some form of safety with his son. Findarato accepted them.

He . . . wasn’t happy it was Findarato, but they needed somewhere to stay and recover. Nargothrond could be worse. He had a goal: recover their strength by whatever means necessary. Everything else would be secondary.

He took point in diplomacy, in Nargothrond. Before this all started he’d been charming, and he knew what he want. It wasn’t hard to start to persuade people and gain power. If he’d been more confident in how they’d react to his body, he could have used it. But he had to make due without. Sindar were more concerned than Noldor when it came to hroa. Smiles, flirting, careful compliments, charity, whatever leverage they wanted with no obvious conditions—he gained them a power base, people to make up what they’d lost. Tyelko took care of the rest.

Findarato was harder. He knew him, like none of the common raffle did. They’d been something approaching friends once. But he knew he needed to repay Findarato for their refuge, then either persuade him to support them or remove him. By whatever means necessary.

No matter how hard he tried, everything with Findarato became more difficult than desirable. He made him a token of good will; it was followed by more, under the justification of thanks for giving him his own forge. He dined with him; their conversations constantly strayed out of diplomatic friendliness and into something more honest. None of his attempts to demonstrate how little he cared about him with other people succeeded. When Findarato started visiting him outside of official hours, he knew it needed to end.

(He could love him, if given the chance.)

So when Beren came, they cast Findarato out. Permanently.

Tyelpe rejected him because of it.

Selfishly, he was glad his son had left him. Tyelpe had started to disagree with the ideas of their Oath, and if he hadn’t renounced their quest he wasn’t sure he could keep the Oath from making him hurt him. It was easier like this. More painful, but easier. As long as he stayed unnoticeable, Tyelpe would be safe. Tyelpe would live.

 

-

 

Their coup had failed, but Orodreth was weak. Everyone knew who was actually in charge of Nargothrond now. Tyelpe still lived there, but they carefully ignored each other. That was fine. He could ensure his safety without interference like this. After all, there were no other powers here.

He didn’t support Tyelko’s idea of holding Luthien, but he aided him anyway. It was him who suggested they spread the idea of him marrying her, even if that wasn’t the goal. Elu Thingol had long been a problem, one he’d do whatever necessary to fix. The idea of his brother marrying his daughter would work well enough to crush Thingol’s spirits.

(The Oath whispered at him, promising this would be a wonderful solution. That they’d be closer to winning, once this was done. That Tyelpe would come back.)

He hadn’t actually believed someone so sheltered from the realities of life could be so obnoxious.

They were treating her perfectly well, giving her far more than the minimum necessary, and yet she never stopped complaining. She even dared bring up the accusations he thought he’d out a stop to, back before Himlad. If they didn’t have plans to guarantee Thingol’s support through her, he wouldn’t have put up with it at all. As it was, he was almost happy when Huan—the traitor—helped her escape.

He wasn’t happy about being kicked out of Nargothrond.

He especially wasn’t happy when Beren didn’t die. Beren. A normal mortal. And yet he managed to escape every ounce of his pent up rage? And he didn’t even succeed at killing Luthien on their way out? Pathetic.

Everyone else agreed with him, apparently. Maedhros and Maglor nearly killed them when they came to admit what happened. Tyelpe’s defection served as both a strike against him and a reason to pity him, so he got a lighter sentence than Tyelko. Not that it meant much.

He’d never seen Maglor so angry at him.

The rest of the war was . . . it made him glad Tyelpe wasn’t seeing them.

 

-

 

Doriath seemed like a good idea, at first. And then he was attacking Dior, over the bodies of his brothers, too focused on his Oath to care about his wounds.

**Author's Note:**

> Applicable headcanons:  
> Biological differences between elves don’t tend to be extreme+are more focused on hair/ears than anything else  
> Gender is carried in the fëa but because of everyone’s unique experiences of gender, other people can’t identify it for someone  
> Tyelpe always has silvery blonde hair in my writing, you may take it as whatever implication of parenthood you want (there are some)  
> Curufin’s the most affected by the Oath, he’s also a Good Dad. Those impulses fight sometimes


End file.
